


Nothing Personal

by Lazerphan



Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Anti has a god complex, Choking, Degradation, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Fingering, Humiliation, Manipulation, Mouthfucking, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Reader has a thing for the occult, Reader makes some stupid decisions, Verbal Abuse, a fucking blood sacrifice, accidentally selling your soul or whatever, actual sex for once, anyways lets get into all the fucked up things you can expect in this, blowjob, degradation kink, don't get used to it, god won't even look at me after writing this, i'm going smackdown to hell, mood swings like a fucking roller coaster, more tags here we go!, near death experience lmao, some hints of a soft boye, some light physical abuse, there's a lil bit of very light knife play, this was meant to be a oneshot pwp but here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazerphan/pseuds/Lazerphan
Summary: Your obsession with the occult gets a little out of hand, and Anti does not hesitate to take advantage of that.





	1. I Am The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is super self-indulgent and basically bordering on self-insert, but I'm a thirsty bitch with a major fucking kink for Anti, don't judge me. I fully intended for this to be a oneshot PWP fic but I got carried away with the plot and here we fucking are. Why does this always happen?
> 
> I also want to say a quick Thank You to AO3 user chelsea_chee for letting me take inspiration from their Anti/reader fic Transponder.
> 
> Also, a last warning:  
> This fic has some really heavy dub-con so if that bothers you I do not recommend that you continue reading this.

**_Glitches_ **

_Glitches, also known as viruses, bugs, or errors, are an alleged sort of supernatural entity that resides in computers. They seem to be a relatively new phenomenon, but it’s unclear whether they were present before computers and are merely taking advantage of them, or if advanced technology is what brought them to existence._

-

You stare down at the rest of the article, not entirely believing what you’re reading.

In all honesty, you’re not sure how you ended up here. You’ve always been intrigued by ghost stories and the occult, so you’re not exactly surprised, but you really don’t know how you stumbled across this article. Probably just mindlessly browsing again.

The weird part is that no matter how much you look, you can’t find much else about it. Normally you’d just chalk it up to people writing about “scary stuff” for the hell of it, but you really can’t shake the idea of these things existing. It’s like they’re begging you to find them. To figure them out.

A couple days later, the article is gone. You know you bookmarked it, but it’s not there. You’ve committed the website to memory, but nothing comes up. On a normal day you’d just shake your head and forget about it, but somehow it just makes you more determined to figure out what this is about.

When nothing comes up for days, you’re eventually forced to let it slip, but you can’t forget about it, it’s always there, at the back of your mind. You know there’s more to this than you can find.

-

And so, one day, you see it again, in your bookmarks folder. _How to speak to a glitch_. You didn’t even search for it. It’s just right there. You waste no time clicking the link. Based on your previous experience it could disappear at any time. It might not even be what you’re looking for, but you can’t let it slip between your fingers.

It’s a simple page. White background, black text, Times New Roman size 12, like an essay you wrote in English class in 9th grade. A bulleted list with steps that will allow you to speak to a so called glitch.

You stare at the screen for a moment. You’ve been trying to get this thing out of your head for so long. You’ve wanted answers for such a long time, and here you are, with more questions than before, but also with the means to possibly get those answers.

As much as you love horror and the supernatural, you’ve never really believed in it. Nevertheless, these instructions are so clear, and you know damn well you won’t be able to sleep tonight if you let this pass you by, so you save them. You don’t trust your computer to keep them safe, so you copy them onto a notepad you keep on your desk.

It turns out to be the right decision, because just a few hours later, you can’t find the page again. You try asking around online but, although people are intrigued, nobody seems to know what you’re talking about. It’s a little unsettling, but you feel excitement stirring in the pit of your stomach, because this gets to be your adventure. If nothing happens, that’s that, but if it does, boy will you have a story to tell.

-

It’s really not that complicated at all. All you have to do is disable your antivirus software and find some sort of empty chatroom. The page said something you made yourself would work best, but anything available online should work as well, as long as you can talk in private.

Disabling your antivirus definitely feels sketchy, but you figure you’re too deep in to stop now.

You google around for a bit to find a website that offers you the ability of creating invitation-only chatrooms. It doesn’t take too long to find one that feels somewhat trustworthy before quickly setting everything up as you need it.

And then you wait.

For a while, nothing happens. The screen is infuriatingly empty. You find yourself checking your phone more and more frequently. Maybe it _is_ just all fake, something someone made up for a story. Hell, it’s a pretty damn impressing one, in that case.

Just when you’re about to cross out of the window and give up, a short line of text appears at the bottom of your screen.

_Hello there_ _,_ _ļ̕o̴v̴̵e_

It takes you a few moments to process what just happened. There’s text on the screen. Nobody should have even been able to enter the chatroom without an invitation, but there it is.

_You gonna keep me waiting?_

You didn’t realize you were getting distracted. You feel a little bad for that. You’ve been sitting here, waiting for someone to say something for what feels like hours, and when they do, you’re too astonished reply to them.

_Sorry, hello!_

The reply comes just a few seconds later.

_I’ll_ _f̵o̢rg̷͢i̶̕͝ve̛͜ you_

That’s an odd way to react. Kind of makes you feel like you actually did something wrong. On the other hand, you’re supposed to be talking to some kind of non-human being, and that’s bound to have some peculiarities.

However, you have no idea how to respond to that.

_What_ _,_ _g̨̢o͘t̷̷ n̨͞ot͜h̸i̢n͟g t͠͠o͞ ̕s̢a̕y̨?̴͞_

You excuse yourself again, trying your hardest to come up with a way to keep the conversation going. The last thing you want is for whoever you’re talking to to get bored. That’d be embarrassing, getting this far only to fuck it up because you don’t know how to hold a damn conversation.

-

You’re trying to get them to tell you things about themselves, but the only thing you’ve gotten so far is their gender. They say they’re male. You make a joke about being surprised otherworldly entities have genders. He doesn’t seem to think it’s funny.

He doesn’t answer any other questions you have for him, no matter how you phrase them he always finds a way to lead the conversation elsewhere without you noticing it. It’s not leading anywhere, and frankly, you’re getting tired of it. What’s the point of keeping this up if you’re just running in circles?

_Hey uh, I have to go for now_

You’re not keen on leaving just yet, but you don’t think you’ll get anywhere else with this for now.

_see you_ _l̡a̷͢t̶̷̸e̢̧͠r̛̛̕_

You shake your head to yourself before going to close the window down, but you end up not needing to, it closes itself before you even get the chance to grab your mouse.

You hide your face in your hands and sigh deeply. You don’t feel like you have any answers, rather more questions than anything. It’s like a wild goose chase.

-

A few days pass and you try not to think about the little chat you had with… whatever it was, but just like before, you can’t get it out of your head.

The way he always managed to lead the conversation away from where you wanted it to go, how he seems like he always knew what you were about to say next, and how he seemingly closed the window on your computer. It’s unsettling, to say the least. Unsettling and horribly intriguing. Something about the weirdness of the situation makes you want to know more; to understand.

But you’ve had no luck talking to him, or any other, similar being either. You don’t know if you’re doing something wrong, or if it’s just that nobody wants to talk to you. That’s both funny and a little upsetting. If a bunch of demon people refuse to speak to you, something must be very wrong. The thought of that makes you laugh shortly to yourself.

-

You’re doing the dishes when your phone suddenly starts vibrating on your kitchen counter; like you’ve gotten a text, but it… doesn’t stop. It just keeps vibrating. Without any pattern or apparent reason. You hope it’s nothing serious, you don’t want to have to pay a bunch of money to have it repaired, or replaced.

When it doesn’t stop you’re forced to check what’s going on. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and pick your phone up. The screen’s off but it keeps vibrating in your hand.

And then it stops.

You try to power on the screen, but nothing happens. It stays black.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, trying to resist the urge to bang your phone against the counter.

You’re about to give up and just deal with this when you’re done with the dishes when the screen finally turns on, only, it’s not your phone wallpaper that shows up. It’s all black screen and white text.

_Hello._

You swallow, gripping the counter with your free hand. It only takes you a couple of seconds to guess who’s to blame for this, and that makes you a little more relaxed. But you have to admit, it’s still a little creepy.

There’s a box for you to type your reply in, but before you can tap on it, another line of text appears on the screen.

_I’m sorry,_ _did̴ ̷̴͜Į ̸̵s̨͘͡c͜ąr̵͞e ̸̕y̧̡o͏͞u̷̢͟?̨_

You let out a nervous laugh before typing your reply.

_Should I be?_

Maybe it’s a bad idea acting cocky, but you also don’t want to admit that yes, you were a little startled.

_What do you think, love?_

You stare at his message for a few seconds, trying to decide if he actually wants you to answer or not, or if he’s threatening you. You honestly can’t tell, so you just ignore the question altogether and ask your own.

_What’s your name?_

The reply is instantaneous.

_You may call me_ _A̷͢͝n̛͘͜͞t̕͘i̷̡̨͜_

Honestly, you didn’t think he’d answer. He’d avoided almost every single one of your questions before.

_Anti?_

It’s not really a name, is it? Not a real one at least. But on the other hand, it would have almost been weirder if he’d said his name was Peter or Chad or something. It would’ve been way too normal.

_‘s what I call myself, love_

That’s fair enough, really.

_Alright then, Anti_

You find yourself smiling at your phone. As bizarre as this is, you’re kind of enjoying the company, if you can call it that.

_Could you g̨̡̺̜̠͈͔̗͠i̸̫̰v̶̫̪̝̱̼̩͎e͏̨̘̺̳̟̬͇̰̦ ͙̯̪͔̖͔͡m̬̠͕̬̳̲͢͟e͖͟͡ your name?_

You blink a few times, you forgot that when you ask someone for their name you’re supposed to tell them your own back. Funny how basic conversational skills seem to escape you recently.

You tell him your name. It takes him a little while to respond, but he says he likes it. Says it sounds pretty when he says it. That line alone feels weirdly intimate, in a good way. You envision him saying it aloud to himself, repeating it with different intonations. Not that you have any idea what he looks like, but it doesn’t feel too important.

You try to ask him about how he’s talking to you or what he is but, as always, he dodges every question, or just flat out ignores them in favour of asking questions about you instead. It’s like you’re trying to catch up with him but he’s in an entirely different race. Maybe questions just aren’t the right way to go about this. You don’t know anything about him. You just want something tangible.

_Tell me something about yourself_

It feels weird to write that, like it’s too close to an order, but you need to know something.

_What do you want to know?_

You hover your fingers over the keyboard for a few seconds. You have several things you want to ask, but you have a feeling this is a “one thing” kind of deal, and you don’t want to blow it by asking something he’ll just ignore.

_Anything really_

It’s quiet for a while. A few seconds pass. A minute. Is he even there anymore?

_I have an irish accent_

You stare at your phone screen in silence. An Irish accent. How did he go about getting an Irish accent if he’s not even human? It’s kind of charming, if you’re being honest.

_That’s unexpected, to say the least_

The image of him repeating your name to himself resurfaces in your mind, only this time there’s a subtle lilt to it. It’s a nice sound, you decide.

_Why?_

You shake your head to yourself, smiling again.

_I just have a hard time imagining that_

Well, the imagining part isn’t that hard. It’s more understanding how he got it that’s a little tough to wrap your head around. You’d ask him outright, but you don’t know if that would be offensive. Would it?

_y̢o̢̕͢u̷ ͏͟w̛a̵͡nn̡͜a̵̕ ̴̵̕he̵̢ąr i̴t̶̕?̢͢͠_

What? You hesitate for a moment. The wise thing to do would probably be to say no, but that’d feel too much like lying. On the other hand, you don’t think saying yes would be a good idea. What would even happen if you did?

Your mouth feels dry as you type out your response.

_What do you mean?_

You don’t want to come across as rude, but you don’t want to sound as nervous as you actually are either.

_Another time then_

The message still feels vaguely threatening, but at least less so than before. You let out a sigh of relief. Thank god you don’t have to explain yourself.

You don’t get the chance to write anything else before the screen dies and turns back on just a second later to reveal your home screen, and that’s that. There’s no indication of the conversation you just had, no programs open, no battery loss. Your phone works just as it normally does.

That’s peculiar.

-

It continues like that for a while. Your phone will glitch out, just for Anti’s simplistic, white-text program to appear on the screen. You can’t open or close it by yourself, it just appears at random times and closes when he thinks the conversation is over. That’s what you assume at least.

He’s nice enough to talk to. A little weird and intrusive at times, but if you’re being honest, it mostly kind of adds to the mystery surrounding him, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little intrigued by it.

You’ve taken a liking to him.

You’ve always had a thing for things you can’t understand. You want to figure things out – understand how they work, and when you can’t, you can’t let it go. He’s unusual, weird, and a little dark. Exactly the right things to draw you in. You could so easily let yourself fall for him. Wouldn’t that be just like you? Developing a crush on somebody that isn’t even human?

You’ve gotten more comfortable talking to him. Maybe that’s a mistake. You have more guts than your brain knows what to do with, and maybe one day you’ll pay for that.

-

_So, what exactly are you, Anti?_

You’ve been talking for quite a while, and you don’t even know what kind of being the guy is. You think you’re kind of entitled to know that by now.

_You really want to know that, don’t you?_

You let out an exasperated groan. Of course he’s always been the one to reply to questions with more questions, but it’s fucking frustrating, alright?

_I asked didn’t I?_

Well, two can play that game.

 _What_ _do_ _y̴͜ǫ̢̛u͏_ _think I am?_

This is getting ridiculous, honestly. What is he getting at?

_I don’t know, you haven’t exactly given me any hints, have you?_

It’s silent for a while, and for some reason every passing second makes you feel just a little more nervous. You’re not sure why, but you find yourself chewing on your lip and furrowing your brows.

 _Would you like to_ _f̡i̶͝n̶d ͡o͟ut̷?_

It’s like the tensions snaps, but you can’t tell if it’s gone away or doubled. As with so many things he says, you can’t tell if it’s a threat or an invitation, and it’s a little unsettling.

_What, you can’t just tell me?_

It’s like he’s always playing games. He can’t just fucking answer questions, there always has to be something else to it. It’s equally fascinating and annoying.

_Where’s the fun in that?_

Where’s the fun? You wonder that as well. You guess you just don’t see the point in actively avoiding what you’re trying to say as much as possible.

_What are you getting at?_

These talks are always nice, or some variations of the word, but he’s been stringing you along for way too long by now. You just want to get to the point.

_I’ll make you a_ _de͢͟͡ą͢l_ _҉_

A deal? That sounds a little ominous, doesn’t it? Aren’t you supposed to avoid that kind of thing? On the other hand, what’s the worst thing he’s done so far? He’s hacked your phone or whatever, and that’s only when he wants to talk.

_About what?_

Still, you’re a little cautious about this.

_You do me a favour, and I’ll do one for you_

_Like what?_

_I want to_ _ge͝t ̷̢ơ̵̕u̢͘͞t͘͝_

“Out”? what does he mean by that? Out in the “real world”? Would that be a good idea?

_And what would I get out of it?_

You have an unpleasant feeling about this, but you’re still curious of where he’s going with this.

_You want to see me_

You feel your face heating up. That’s not a lie, definitely not. You’ve been wondering what he looks like for forever. How his voice would sound saying your name, whispering in your ear. What his skin would feel like under your fingers. God, you have to stop getting attached to people you definitely shouldn’t get attached to.

_What would I have to do?_

How much does this guy think he’s worth? What exactly does a “favour” mean to him? You’re not up for any kind of possession here. You don’t want any fucking demons or anything.

_I͝ ̴̰̩͕̻̖̖w͎̯a̶̰̠̜̳̥̼n̹t͈̝͍͘ ̡̪͇̲t͍o͢ ͘g̹̬̪̻͚ͅe͉͕͉̫̬̠͢ț̭͕̘͔ ͖o̜u͎͔̫̱t̢̠̜̗̬͈_

_And?_

_I just need a little_ bl͜o̸̢͠o̢d

That’s… Kind of really fucking weird, and pretty damn creepy as well.

_Blood? Like from a goat or some shit?_

_y̴̷o͢͜u̸r͏̨s̴̡_

It genuinely sounds like he wants you to sell your soul. You’re vaguely aware of the fact that you should feel more opposed to the idea of that than you do.

_And I’m supposed to just agree to that?_

_I’ll make it_ _w͜or͢t̵h_ _your while_

_What makes you think I’d do it?_

_I don’t_

You furrow your brows. If he doesn’t think you’ll do it, why would he even bother?

_Then why did you ask?_

_It’s an_ _o͘f̷f̵er_

_And what if I say no?_

_Then you’ll never know_

You swallow dryly. He’s really got you, hasn’t he? The thought of passing this opportunity up and spending the rest of your life wondering is not a nice one. You know you’d never be able to let it go, just as it’s occupied your thoughts for the last few weeks.

You swear to yourself. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s just like that; always knows how to pull your strings.

_How would I do it?_

You’re not going to slit your wrists for some random guy on the internet, even with your curiosity, there are limits.

_Attagirl_

_Hey, I haven’t decided yet_

_Ye͏͡͡s you̧͡ ̛h̛̛͘a̶v͝e͝_

You stare at your screen, trying to come up with a way to argue against him but, he’s right. He’s right and you hate that he is.

His ability to read you just through your fucking text messages is almost infuriating. You might as well just give up on trying to be subtle or casual. He apparently already knows exactly what’s going on inside your head, so what’s the point anyways? He didn’t even answer your question.

You almost want to change your mind out of sheer spite. But then again, he’s right. You have made up your mind. Admitting that sends a small spark of satisfaction up your spine. It’s a pleasant feeling.

_So how do I do this then?_

_You’ll_ _fi̕gu͡re̵_ _it out_

You sigh in exasperation. Does this guy even know the _meaning_ of the word straightforward??

You shake your head. Right, blood. You look up from your phone, assessing your options. The easiest would just be like getting a sewing needle and poking yourself, right?

You think about it for a few seconds, but it just doesn’t feel right. Logically, you know it’s the best, easiest, and safest method, but it’s like there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to come up with something else.

Second option would be a knife, right? _Yes_ , knife feels right. Your head feels a little fuzzy at the thought of that. It feels good, you decide. Knife it is, then.

The walk to your kitchen only takes half a minute. You stop in the middle of the room. Knives in the second drawer from the top, you remind yourself. You open the drawer and consider your options for a moment. Picking a smaller one feels like the smartest choice. The bigger ones are just too bulky.

You have a knife, now what? You walk back into your living room and sit down on the floor. However you’re going to do this, you don’t want to get bloodstains on your sofa or anything.

You honestly don’t feel like you have any idea what you’re supposed to do. Should you do anything with the blood, like put it in a bowl, draw a pentagram on the ground, or just fucking drink it? You hope it’s not supposed to be any kind of cult sacrifice deal, because if it is, you’re out.

You think about it for a few seconds, but none of the options you considered feel right. Do you just make the cut and leave it be? The fuzzy sensation gets a little stronger, like a slight tingle around your temples. It feels a little like you’ve been drinking. You’re not sure but you think your mind’s a little clouded. So, just leave it, then.

Where is the best place to draw blood for a fucking sacrifice? Your palm? No, that’s not right. Come on, focus. _Arm_. Your arm. That’s easy.

You roll up the left sleeve of your shirt, exposing your forearm. The wrist is a bad idea, you’re definitely not going to do that. Upper forearm, then. Right. Good.

You bring the knife up to your arm. The metal feels cold against your skin. This is all you have to do. It’s no big deal, it’s just a little blood. It’s going to be fine. God, this is such a weird fucking situation to be in. What the _fuck_ are you getting yourself into?

You hesitate for a moment; one part of your brain is telling you that this is a horrible idea and that it can’t ever end well, but the slight buzzing around your temples and the pleasant calm that sits in the back of your head tells you to keep going, that it’ll be worth it. That you’ll like it, even. And you know you’ll never be able to resist the thrill of the mystery. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do this _right now_.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath to clear your head, and it kind of works. Your face is tingling now and it feels really damn good. You can’t help but smile a little at the sensation. You can do this.

Actually no. You _want_ to do this.

You’ve been talking to this random ass person online, who’s not even a human being. You barely know anything about him, and here you are; willingly going to go through with some fucking _blood sacrifice_ for his sake. Isn’t that just fucked up?

For some reason, the thought of that makes you smile a little wider. Fucked up, that’s exactly what it is, and you love it.

The slight sting as you slide the knife across your arm, breaking the skin, doesn’t even phase you. You barely feel it at all. In fact, you feel great, almost drunk. It feels amazing, knowing that you’re doing this for him. There’s no reason you should feel as good about this as you do, but that’s how it is, and you don’t want it to stop.

Does it really have to stop?

-

In.

Out.

You hear the sound of your own breathing before you feel it. It’s uneven, ragged. Your head feels weird, like there’s static surrounding you. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. You don’t know if you want to.

What’s going on?

It’s just you, the sound of your breath, and the static in your mind. You don’t know how much time passes without you even moving. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to move at all, that wants to stay like this. It’s the vague stinging in your arm that finally breaks your trance.

You open your eyes to see what’s causing the pain. It takes you a while to register what you’re seeing. The room is darker, gloomier than you recall. How long were you gone? You focus on your arm again. There are little streams of red running along your skin; down your arm, over your palm, in between your fingers, ultimately dripping onto the floor. That’s not right. You’re bleeding.

Shit, you’re _bleeding_. The realization clears your head significantly faster than before. Not enough to get rid of the cloudiness slowing your thought process, but enough to make you realize that you probably should do something about this.

You stand up too quickly and have to lean against the wall to steady yourself. The sudden movement darkens your vision for a few seconds. When it comes back you’re staring at the space where you were sitting just a few seconds earlier. There are little droplets of blood on the floor and right next to them there’s a small kitchen knife. What the fuck did you do?

Whatever, you can worry about that later. For now, you should wash the cut on your arm and stop the bleeding.

You stumble into your bathroom and turn the faucet on to wash the blood of your hands. The lights flicker. You blink. You should have some kind of saline solution in your kitchen, right? You cut yourself quite often when you’re cooking so it makes sense to keep all the first aid appliances there. You turn the faucet off, completely forgetting to even clean the blood off your hands.

Walking to the kitchen means you’re going to have to stumble through the apartment again. It’s alright, you tell yourself. You’re a little steadier now. You won’t fall. Good thing the kitchen is on the other fucking side of your home.

You honestly don’t know why you feel so unsettled by all of this. Maybe it’s because you found yourself sitting on the floor in your dark living room, with blood dripping down your arm and a knife next to you. Who knows, right?

You take a few, slow steps out of the bathroom and into the living room, and then you stop.

There’s someone sitting on your sofa. It’s not hard to figure out who it is.

You stand completely still, not knowing if he’s noticed you yet or not. If he has, he hasn’t acknowledged you at least.

He looks nothing like how you envisioned him, but somehow it fits him even better. The first thing you notice about him is his hair. It’s a deep green colour, but the sides are brown and cut short. That’s the most surprising part of his appearance. His milky white skin and all black outfit doesn’t come nearly as much as a shock.

He’s twirling your kitchen knife between his fingers, looking out the window absentmindedly. To your annoyance, you can’t see most of his face.

You don’t know how long you stand there, barely daring to breathe, when he speaks.

“You gonna say anything or are you just gonna stare at me?” he asks, turning his head to look at you. His accent is even thicker than you imagined.

You almost flinch in response, taking a small step back. “I- sorry,” you stutter out, your cheeks flushing. You _had_ been staring.

“You look surprised,” he chuckles, standing up from the sofa. He looks wrong, feels wrong.

That’s not to say that he’s in any way unattractive. Far from it, in fact. He’s positively gorgeous, but there’s something off about him, like he’s not supposed to be here.

“I wasn’t expecting-“ you begin, shifting your gaze away from him. This isn’t right. This is not what you wanted.

“What? You weren’t expecting _this_?” He laughs, it’s an eerie, high-pitched sound. “Tell me, what _were_ you expecting?” He asks, taking a step toward you.

You take another step back.

“You humans are so naïve, always messing around with things you shouldn’t.” He shakes his head. “Or is that just you?”

You hold your tongue, not yet sure how big of a threat he poses.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy now. You were so eager to talk to me before,” he chuckles. Another step forward. “Played along so nicely. I barely had to do anything myself. You even gave me your name. God, you’re so fucking stupid.”

He laughs softly before saying your name, slowly sounding it out, just like you imagined. The sound sends chills down your spine.

“But I suppose I should thank you.” He hums, nodding toward your arm. “All of that, just for me? That’s absolutely precious.”

You clutch your arm to your chest, not caring if you get any blood on your shirt. _This is wrong_.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” He keeps smiling at you like he’s speaking to a child. “My god, you didn’t even fight back. No protections, no precautions. Easy prey. But, after all, what can you expect from a filthy little human?”

You take another step away from him and your back hits the wall. Fuck.

He grins at you knowingly. “You getting scared? What happened? You didn’t think I’d hurt you before. What’s changed?”

His voice is so fucking sweet, it’s like poisoned candy. You swallow shallowly. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Awh, did I get inside your head?” he giggles. He fucking giggles. “A little tip for next time; never trust a demon.”

The moment Anti finishes his sentence you realize two things. One: you’re in over your head. Way over your head. And two: he’s standing right in front of you. You didn’t see him move, didn’t notice any change, but he’s standing there, and he definitely wasn’t before.

You have to put an end to this right now. This is definitely not what you wanted when you went looking for some exciting paranormal experience. God, you really went looking for him. You fucking brought this upon yourself. You god damn idiot.

You have to stop this.

“Anti,” you warn, although it comes out more like a whimper, trying to look neutral as you meet his eyes. They’re blue, you note. His gaze is cold, calculating, and unwavering. You can’t hold it. “I need you to leave.”

He raises his eyebrows before tilting his head back and bursting out laughing. You don’t get what’s so funny.

“You “need me to leave”? My god, you really don’t get it, do you?” He turns his head to face you again, his gaze practically pinning you in place. “You’re _mine_.”

You open your mouth to protest but when you breathe in you’re caught off guard by the feeling of cold metal against your throat. You close your mouth again. You forgot he had your knife.

“You gave me everything I needed. Came looking for me yourself. You didn’t even think twice about giving up your name or, even better, your _blood_. Do you even have the slightest idea what that means?” He pauses his monologue, running his tongue over his bottom lip. He technically just asked you a question, but with the knife pressed to your throat, you get the feeling he doesn’t want an answer.

“Giving me your name was one thing. But this?” His eyes flick down to your arm again. “You fucking marked yourself as mine. Every aspect of your pathetic, miserable little life belongs to _me_ , by blood.”

He grabs your wrist with his free hand, pulling it up his face without much effort. “Isn’t that just neat?” He meets your gaze and flashes you a smirk before diving down to fucking lick across the cut on your arm. It stings more than it should and you have to struggle to hold back a groan.

“I’m your fucking _god_ ,” he spits when he comes back up, your blood smudged across his lips.

A chill runs down your spine when he speaks and you press your back further into the wall, not that there’s much room left to do so.

He chuckles at your little act of defiance and smiles sweetly at you. “Silly human, there’s nowhere to run,” and with that he plants his hands on either side of your head. You have no idea what happened to the knife he was holding. It’s just not there anymore, and you don’t bother looking for it.

“I wonder what I should do with you. There are just so many options,” he sighs, letting one of his hands trail down the side of your face, your neck, and down to your ribs before finally stopping to rest on your waist. “I could make it hurt, make you bleed until you’re drowning in red.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you have to clench your teeth to keep your face neutral. You know it probably doesn’t make a difference, but you’re not going to break down for him.

He hums to himself. “Tempting, can’t deny that. Then again, I did make you a deal. Said I’d make it worth your time, didn’t I?” He studies your face for a moment and lets out a little giggle. Somehow, the prospect of your little deal doesn’t sound very intriguing anymore.

Without warning he takes a step closer to you, leaning in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You suck in a breath, trying to stay silent as he brushes the tip of his nose over your neck, breathing in your scent.

You screw your eyes shut, breathing through your mouth.

“God, that is absolutely marvellous; the smell of your blood and fear. It’s almost intoxicating,” he murmurs, his lips just a few centimetres from your ear. “It’s so tempting to just to rip your pretty little throat out. Leave you gasping for air as you choke on your own blood.” He punctuates his sentence by grazing his teeth over your skin, pulling a small whimper from your lips. “Would you like that?”

Jesus fucking Christ, does he have to be so close? You can feel every single breath he takes running over the base of your neck and it’s driving you insane. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to run, to fight, to get away from him, but there’s another part of you that wants him to keep going, that wants him closer. What the fuck is wrong with you?

You almost wish he’d go through with his threats just so you don’t have to deal with this anymore.

He pulls back, flashing you a devious smirk. “How does it feel? Knowing I can do anything I want to you?”

Even if you wanted to answer that question, you wouldn’t know how. Your body and your mind want two completely different things, and you’re at a loss.

“Anti,” you plead, your voice weak, not sure what you’re asking for. “Please.”

He laughs again, shaking his head at you. “You can beg all you want, it won’t make a difference. I’m in control here. I’m a fucking god to you, and you’re _nothing_ to me.”

You can practically hear your own heartbeat. The rushing of your blood in your ears is verging on deafening. What are you supposed to make of this?

He leans in close again, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You involuntarily arch your neck, exposing more of it to him. “Nothing,” he repeats in a low growl. “I can’t fucking wait to break you.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. You have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet.

You should not be getting as worked up as you are. Your life is in immediate danger here, there’s nothing sexy about that. Or at least that’s how you probably should feel about the situation.

Anti pulls back for a moment, studying you with furrowed brows. You do your best to look indifferent but you doubt you’re doing that good of a job, if the warm flush on your cheeks is anything to go by at least.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying this,” he laughs and you have to turn your head to the side, too ashamed of the truth to meet his gaze. He lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh my god, you fucking are. That’s fucked up.”

He steps closer to you again. “But that makes this so much more fun for me.”

You shudder, still refusing to look at him, but he’s not having it. He grasps your chin between his fingers and turns your head until you’re forced to meet his prying eyes.

“What kind of filthy little things are you imagining, huh? Wondering what my lips would feel like on yours? My hands on your hips?” He studies your face in earnest before cracking into another one of his trademark smirks. “No, that’s not it. That wouldn’t do it for you anyways, would it?” he snickers and flicks his tongue across his bottom lip. “You want me to _fuck_ you, don’t you. Hard and ruthlessly. You wanna be fucked into submission, right where you belong. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you wish there was any way for you to avoid this excruciating eye contact, but he’s right, to some degree at least. Not that you’d admit it. You don’t want him to do anything to you. You want him to leave, and to be done with this stupid bullshit you got yourself into.

You wish that was the whole truth.

“Jesus, you’re fucking disgusting,”

How you wish that it didn’t turn you on as much as it does. He lets out a chuckle. “Maybe that’s how you’d like me to fulfil my little promise.” His hand pushes up under the hem of your shirt, exposing a sliver of your skin. The contact has your breath hitching in your throat.

“Want me to pound into you until you can’t remember who you are, until your voice is raw from screaming my name like a god damn prayer.” He knows exactly what to say to get you going, and he knows it’s working. Your cheeks are burning in shame and you try your best to focus on keeping your eyes down. You know if you meet his cold, unrelenting stare, you’ll break, and you’ll be damned if you go down without a fight.

“Where should I start?” he muses to himself, and pulls his hands back, only for you to find them pinning your wrists to the wall on either side of your head. When the fuck did he move? “I could start with your eyes, take them away first. Or I could go for your lips, give you a little taste of what we both know you want. Or I’ll let myself start with that pretty, tempting little throat of yours,” he hums, letting his lips brush over the side of your neck before pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You meet his gaze with your own, cold, unfeeling one, doing your best to look stoic. _You’re not dying like this._

“Would you like that?” he murmurs, and that’s when you decide you’ve had enough. Never breaking eye contact you brace yourself for whatever hell you’re about to raise, and then you spit in his face.

You register the sharp pain in your cheek before you see him move. The force behind the blow is enough make your head jerk to the side. You have to struggle to fight back the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

Before you can even properly recover, his fingers grip your chin, your jaw aching from the immense pressure, and turns your head to face him again. His eyes are so dark and burning with rage that you can’t meet them.

“Just what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, his face just a few centimetres from yours. “I thought I made myself clear. You’re mine, and I will do as I please with you.”

His grip is so firm that you fear he’s going to break your jaw. You can’t even open your mouth to protest.

“Look at me,” he demands, his grip tightening even further, and you have to oblige. As you meet his gaze, every fibre of your being is screaming at you to get away, but the ice-cold fire in his eyes just draws you in further.

“I was gonna go easy on you, as thanks. But I can’t do that anymore, can I?” His lips crack into a vicious grin as he lets go of your chin. You don’t doubt that it’s going to leave a bruise. If you survive this, that is. A second later his hands are at your shoulders, pushing you down with so much force that all you can do is follow. When you’re down on your god damn knees before him, he kneels down to your height, still wearing that fucking grin.

“I want you to remember, that you’re the one who made this happen. This is because of you and your lack of basic manners. This is all on you,” he says calmly before standing back up again, keeping his eyes on you. He runs a hand down the side of your face and gently brushes his thumb over your lips, applying just enough pressure to make you understand what he wants.

You glare up at him but slowly part your lips anyway. He doesn’t waste any time slipping his thumb into your mouth, tracing it along your bottom row of teeth. The temptation to bite down is there, but you don’t think it’d serve any other purpose than make him even angrier than before.

“I’m sure we could teach you a little respect today, don’t you think?” he says before pulling back his hand and wiping it off on his jeans. You know what’s coming, and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it. You can’t pretend you haven’t pictured this scene in your mind a dozen times, although it was never like this.

Your eyes are fixed on his hand as it moves to the zipper of his jeans and swiftly pulls it down. He doesn’t do anything else, and for a moment it’s quiet. You don’t have the nerve to move, or even just pull your eyes away.

He lets out a small chuckle that catches you off guard. “Relax, you might even enjoy yourself. Besides, you should be thankful, any other day I would’ve killed you on the spot, but I’m feeling generous today. Don’t make me regret it.”

You swallow dryly and try to steady your breathing. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it won’t be that bad. You give a small shake of your head to clear your thoughts. It takes surprisingly little effort to reach out and tug his jeans and boxers down just enough to expose the base of his dick, pushing against the fabric. You’re almost certain you feel your heart skip a beat, in excitement or unease, you’re not sure which.

You gather yourself again and pull his jeans the last few centimetres it until his cock springs free. It’s not often dicks look nice, but Anti’s is positively captivating, you have to admit that. He’s not outrageously big, but he’s definitely not small either. You almost need to take a moment just to appreciate the view.

You uncertainly wrap your fingers around him and give a few experimental strokes. The warmth actually catches you a little off guard. You don’t know why but you were almost kind of expecting him to be cold.

“Don’t make me wait,” Anti growls from above you and you almost flinch in surprise. Get yourself together. You can’t let yourself forget it’s an actual fucking demon you’re dealing with here.

You give his smooth, warm cock another stroke before leaning in just a little closer and licking a stripe up the length of it, making sure to pay some extra attention to the head. Anti lets out a small sigh and you can almost see his muscles relaxing. It’s a pleasant sound. You could almost get used to that, you think. It definitely pushes you a little further.

You give another long, slow lick, tracing the underside of his cock, flattening your tongue against it. When he barely reacts at all this time your curiosity gets the better of you and you tentatively turn your gaze up to keep an eye on his face. What you’re not expecting is for him to stare right back at you. His lips split into a smug grin when you meet his eyes and you have to look away, your cheeks already burning.

“What did I just say?” he growls. “Get it on with.” The threat is enough to send a flash of arousal through your core.

You give the slightest nod, mostly to yourself, before you return to the task at hand. Or, well, mouth.

The sound he makes when you wrap your lips around him is almost reward enough. A quiet groan that sends your heart racing, if even for just a moment. My god, he has the most captivating voice. It’s almost easy to push yourself further, taking more of his length into your mouth just to hear it again.

You have to struggle a little to get the last few centimetres in, trying not to trigger your gag reflex. It earns you an approving hum and a hand at the top of your head, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. The action feels intimate, almost tender. Not that you’re going to complain.

You pull all the way back, a string of saliva connecting from your bottom lip to the head of his cock, and take the time to breathe properly before going back down again.

This time when you glance up at him he’s got his eyes closed and his lips parted. He looks close to disarmingly peaceful. You’re doing this to him, you remind yourself. You doubt he’d let his guard down like this if he knew you were watching him. The knowledge of that puts a small smile on your face. It gives you the confidence to take him back into your mouth and continue before he gets impatient. You want to hear more of those precious little gasps and moans, not to mention that fucking accent of his.

You’re by no means disappointed; he’s surprisingly vocal about everything, though you can tell he’s trying to hold it back, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out what makes him falter.

His hands to the back of your head and you instinctively turn to look up at him. He’s grinning at you again, no trace of that unguarded tranquillity you saw just a moment ago.

“God, you look so fucking good like this. On your knees with my cock in your mouth. Right where you belong, no?” he hums, taking the time to stroke your hair. The praise contrasts so much with what he’s said before; you can’t hold his gaze when he says things like that, though you feel a warm sense of pride blooming in your chest. “Doing such a good fucking job, love.”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, once again surprising you with the softness of the gesture, before moving both of his hands to the back of your head. “Regardless, I’m getting bored with holding back,” he chuckles before balling your hair in his fists and snapping his hips forward, forcing most of his length down your throat.

You dig your fingers into his thighs, fighting against your gag reflex, but he’s holding you in place, effectively stopping you from pulling away. All you can really do is keep still as he pushes in and out of your mouth as he pleases.

“You should feel honoured, you know? Not a lot of people get this privilege. Don’t forget that,” he groans, picking up the pace a little. “Not that you’d be able to. No, you’ll remember this, no matter how much you try to forget it, you’ll remember. The way I tasted, the way I made you feel. You’ll remember it, and you’ll want me. You’ll need me. You already did, and that’s not going to change. You’ll never be rid of me. You know why? Because you’re _mine_. Because you belong to me, and I’ll own you so completely that every fibre of your being will constantly ache for me.”

You can’t deny the effect his words have on you and you just barely manage to choke down a whimper, though you have no doubt he feels the vibrations through his cock anyways.

He lets out a short chuckle before continuing. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll give you a little treat. Give you what you want every once in a while. We do have a deal after all.”

You don’t know whether to focus on the fact that your oxygen is running low, the tears forming in the corners of your eyes, or the undeniable sensation of arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach. It’s almost too much to take in all at once.

With every passing second you become more and more convinced that he’s not going to care if you pass out. Your hands find their way to the backs of his thighs, gripping them tightly to keep you steady.

It’s harder to hear him now that his little gasping an panting’s being drowned out by the obscene sound of your own gagging, but you revel in it nonetheless. You close your eyes and focus on breathing through your nose, ignoring the slight ache in your jaw as you ground yourself in the sound of Anti’s uneven breathing.

It’s not long until random obscenities start falling from his lips. Little whispers of “fuck” and “shit”, twisted by that lovely accent of his. Although, lovely as it is, it doesn’t make up for the fact that you can’t breathe properly.

“Almost there, baby,” Anti chokes out between breathes, as if he could read your mind.

There’s a few more seconds of you keeping your breathing in check and him relentlessly thrusting into your mouth before he lets out a choked moan and pushing all the way in. You have to fight to keep from gagging, your airflow completely cut off, as he holds you there. Squeezing your eyes shut is the only thing you can do to keep the tears from finally escaping your eyes and running down your cheeks.

A choked back “fuck” is all the warning you get before he releases himself, coating the walls of your throat with his hot cum, already too far down to give you any chance of spitting it out. You can’t decide if you’re relieved or disappointed by the fact that you can barely taste him. All you can do is swallow and wait for him to release his grip on your hair, but he doesn’t, not at first at least.

It’s not until you’re starting to panic, hitting at his thigh to hopefully let him know you can’t breathe, that he lets out a drawn-out, contented sigh and finally lets you go.

You almost fall backwards, trying to pull away when there’s nothing else holding you up. You end up leaning on your arms, coughing and spluttering as you try to get used to the sensation of breathing air again.

The sound of Anti pulling up the zipper on his jeans and letting out a soft laugh, has you turning your head up towards him. He meets your eyes effortlessly and flashes you an arrogant grin.

“Maybe that’ll teach you some fucking manners,” he muses, and then it’s quiet.

Anti’s gone. He’s just gone, leaving you to clean up this mess on your own.


	2. I Am The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since Anti showed up you haven't been able to get him out of your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, it's been eight months since I posted the first chapter. I'm sorry!!! I promise you there hasn't been a single day when I haven't thought about this fic ahaha.  
> It's here now at the very least! I hope it's not disappointing lmao

You turn around again, adjusting your position so that you’re lying on your side. You’ve been twisting and turning for hours, days actually. You can’t even remember the last time you got a full night’s sleep.

Actually, you can. It was sometime before Anti. Before you found that god-forsaken article on the internet. Before you made the stupidest mistake of your life. Since then, everything’s been going to shit. At least it feels like it.

You can't sleep properly, you can’t concentrate, you flinch at every little noise. You just can’t seem to get him out of your head.

_Just like he said._

You groan and turn around again, pulling your covers over your head. Why the fuck can’t he just leave you alone?

-

Dragging yourself out of bed takes the better half of your energy this morning.

Sitting at your kitchen table, a cup of coffee in your hand, you doubt it was even worth it. Although, you probably would’ve gone mad if you’d stayed in bed any longer. It’s not like you would’ve gotten any more sleep anyways.

_You’ll never be rid of me._

You hate the fact that you become more and more certain he’s right with every passing day. He’s all you can think about. Really think about, that is. It’s like he never fucking leaves. He’s always there. Always just at the back of your mind. Like he’s always watching you.

You almost wish he was. That he’d give you any sign of his existence at all. Maybe that’d shut your brain up for a minute. But the only proof you have that you didn’t imagine this whole thing is the jagged, raised scar on your left forearm. There’s no real reason it should be as pronounced as it is. It was just a cut after all, and it wasn’t even that deep, but it stands out against your skin. A stark red line, and if you run your fingers over it, you can feel the raised edge. Every now and then it’ll catch your attention, begging you to scratch and prod at it, like it’ll fix anything.

You’re not sure how long scars should take to fade, but you feel like it should’ve healed up a little better at least. How long has it even been?

You shake your head to yourself. You really don’t know. The days have blended together into a blur. Like a long, colourless corridor without end. In all honesty, you don’t know if you’ll ever get out.

What are you becoming?

-

You’ve stopped hoping for Anti to contact you again like before. It took you a while, just to admit you were hoping for it, but that’s how it is. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. Just like before, when you read the article and couldn’t get it out of your head.

Did he do that to you as well?

_Does it even matter?_

You figured maybe you’d be able to think about something else if he’d just acknowledge your existence. Not that there’s anything to back that assumption up. You just need to scratch that itch. You need him to contact you.

You can’t even look at your phone. The anticipation whenever you pick it up is too much. It’s been laying on your counter for days, maybe even weeks, you wouldn’t know. It’s probably filled with missed calls and texts from your friends and family, asking if you’re okay. You don’t bother checking. There’s probably no battery left anyways. It hasn’t made a sound for days.

-

The worst part, though, is the fucking guilt.

None of this would have happened if you could’ve just kept your curiosity in check. You wouldn’t have gotten involved in any blood pact, wouldn’t have sucked off a god damn demon, and, most importantly, you would’ve been able to live a normal fucking life by now.

But you can’t, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own.

You went looking for him. You kept talking to him even though you knew it was a bad idea. You made a deal with a demon. You let him fuck your mouth. Let him use you like his own, personal toy.

And you kind of enjoyed it.

You wince at the thought. Admitting that to yourself almost physically hurts. Though you were scared, you enjoyed it. The way he spoke to you, how you never knew what he’d do next, how he always seemed to know exactly what was going on inside your head. Thinking about it drives you fucking insane. You enjoyed it.

_You’ll remember._

_The way I tasted, the way I made you feel._

Your cheeks burn at the memory. He’d been right. You really do remember, every single moment, in vivid detail. You’d be lying if you said the memory hadn’t kept you up at night, trying to cure the restlessness in your bones with your fingers. If anything it just made you feel even more conflicted. You should hate him for what he did to you. You kind of do, only, it’s not enough. Not for the right reasons.

You invited him yourself, sliced your own arm open, knowing fully well that blood pacts never bring anything good, and then he fucked your mouth. But that’s not why you hate him. Quite the opposite actually; thinking about it lights a flicker of arousal deep in your chest. Almost reaches that ever-present itch, but not quite.

The reason you hate him is because he refuses to even fucking acknowledge you. He did all of this to you. He’s the only one who can fix it – but he doesn’t. That’s one hell of an asshole move, isn’t it?

-

Anti’s an asshole. A foul-mouthed, perverted, sadistic, bordering on _evil_ asshole. And he’s so _god damn_ attractive. Everything about him calls out to you, rings your every warning bell and _begs_ you to touch him. It’s all you can think about, lying in your bed at night when sleep refuses to visit you. Everything is just Anti. Pale skin. Green hair. Icy blue eyes. Arrogant smirk. Anti. Anti. Anti.

You feel like you’re on fire, and you want so fucking bad for it to stop. It never ceases, never dulls. Always burning you alive.

To put it simply, you’re fucked.

You push your face into your pillow, choking back a pained whimper. It’s not until now you notice you’re grinding your hips into the mattress beneath you. You pause, your breathing hot and heavy as you push yourself up again.

It takes a surprising amount of mental effort to guide your left hand under the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and underwear. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath, but when you pull your fingers back and they’re covered in slick wetness, you let out a defeated sigh. You can either deal with this or pretend it’s not there. Stand your ground, or give in to temptation.

In  end you don’t have the willpower to resist. If you did, you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation to begin with.

You turn around to lie on your back and close your eyes, guiding your hand back into your panties. It’s not like anyone would know anyways, when you’re done you can pretend this never happened.

You picture him in front of you, cornering you against the wall again. His cold eyes pinning you in place as he snakes his hand into your jeans. If you really focus you can pretend it’s him touching you right now, his fingers pushing into you instead of your own.

-

The guilt washes over you the moment you finish and let yourself sink back into the mattress, drowning out any sense of pleasure you might have felt. Did you really just get off to the thought of someone who made you suck him off?

You’ve imagined him like this before, but that was, well, _before_. Before he showed up in your apartment. Before he held a knife to your throat. Before he told you he _owned_ you. It should make you less inclined to see him like that, but it’s just made it worse.

You feel dirty, filthy, disgusting, and it hurts. It pushes against your ribs and your throat and you want to throw up. You bury your face in your pillow again, letting out sob after sob. You feel like you don’t belong to yourself. Maybe you don’t. Not anymore.

There’s this emptiness where he should be. This horrible, terrifying hole in your being, that you know should never have been uncovered to begin with, but you can’t undo what’s already been done, and all you want is to not feel it again. Fill that hole back in with dirt and snakes and bones and every feeling he’s left behind him.

You let out a gut-wrenching wail, of loss, or of longing. You’re not sure which. It doesn’t matter anyways. Understanding it won’t make it leave. You’ll never be clean again. Not when you’ve become this filthy.

Filthy, filthy, filthy, filthy, filthy.

_Such a pathetic fucking wreck._

-

It eats up every ounce of energy you have in your body. It’s consuming you. Maybe that’s what he wanted all along. For you to tear yourself down, piece by ruined piece, until nothing remains. Well, if that’s his plan, he’s well on his way to succeeding.

You can’t live like this anymore. Fighting every single second to stay afloat. You don’t know what the alternative is. Your body and your mind want two different things. In your head, you know you want peace, for this to stop, to forget this ever happened. But your body wants something different. It’s screaming for him. Your skin burns and your bones ache, and you’re so, so tired. But there’s nothing you can do.

You look down at your scar, an angry, jagged, red line against your skin. It stings and burns. Just looking at it makes you want to gag. It’s a reminder of everything you’ve done wrong and that all of this is your fault. You hate it, even more than you hate yourself nowadays.

You just want to feel something other than despair for a while.

The _intensity_ of the feeling when your nails scrape over the raised skin has you hissing in surprise. Why is it so god damn sensitive? It’s not that it hurts per se, it’s just… a lot.

You close your eyes, let out a sigh, and scratch your fingernails over the scar again, and again, and again. The fact that it’s so intense makes it easy to focus on. Easy to forget everything else; and that’s all you want, isn’t it?

_Relief is a blessing._

You claw at your skin in a desperate frenzy. It hurts a little bit by now, but not nearly enough as that big, gaping hole in your soul. Compared to that, this is nothing at all. Compared to that, this is peaceful. Quiet, empty, blissful peace.

-

The unsettling feeling of wet on your fingers and the scent of iron is what finally brings you back from your void of silence.

Oh. You’re bleeding again.

The fact that you’ve scratched your arm raw doesn’t even faze you anymore. It just serves to remind you of the one thing it’d been helping you repress moments before. A temporary distraction, that’s what it was. And now it’s ruined.

The wave of anger and pain that builds up in your stomach is too much for you to deal with. You don’t even realize you’re acting until your fist hits the wall next to you.

The lights go out.

It takes a few seconds for you to register the growing pain in your hand, like it’s slowly seeping through your fingers and your arm. Still, you cradle your hand to your chest.

Why did the lights go out?

The smell of iron is overwhelming, so much stronger than it should be. Your hand is bleeding as well. Great, just what you need; one more thing to worry about.

Your TV flickers on. Static.

You whip your head around, looking for anything amiss. Something’s wrong, you can feel it in the air. But there’s nothing there. Not that there’s a lot to see in the creeping dark of your apartment.

What is going on?

Your TV flickers on, spouting static into the silence and suddenly a thought crosses your mind.

_Anti._

How did it take you so long to figure it out? After all, he’s been the only thing on your mind for what feels like forever. But he’s nowhere to be seen, just like before, and it drives you insane. He’s fucking toying with you. The god damn asshole.

You clench your fists and squeeze your eyes shut. The sound of static emanating from the TV is deafening. It’s the only thing you can hear. Buzzing and buzzing, a constant reminder that he’s watching you, playing with you. You can’t take it anymore.

You press your hands to your ears, trying so hard to drown out the noise. But it doesn’t stop, and it’s just so symbolic, isn’t it? There’s a raging storm inside your head, loud and ferocious, tearing at your sanity. You grit your teeth, a final effort to contain the thunder within you. But you just can’t stop it.

“STOP!”, you scream, so loud that you feel your vocal chords strain. “Make it stop. Please!” Your desperation becomes apparent, tears welling up in your eyes.

To your surprise, the static stops and there’s an eerie moment of silence. You’re not sure what you’re seeing. It’s like your vision is going blurry, except it’s all clear. You just can’t see. As if there’s a blind-spot right in front of you.

For a single moment, there’s only the sound of your own, heaving breath. And then, the familiar sound of an eerie giggle. You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

“Did you miss me?” Anti muses, finally (finally) placing himself in your field of vision, just a few feet in front of you. You swallow, adamant on not giving him the satisfaction of seeing what he’s done to you. Now that he’s here, you don’t know how to act or how to feel.

“Oh, come on, don’t be shy now. You’re the one who called me here, after all.” His eyes meet yours and just like that you’re frozen in place. Pinned down by his knife-sharp gaze. Still, you say nothing. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” he taunts, flashing you his teeth in a menacing grin.

You finally pull your gaze away from him, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. “What makes you think I want you here?” you ask, your voice steady.

Anti studies your face for a second before letting out a low-pitched laugh. “Don’t you think I know exactly how badly you need me?” He smirks, taking a step closer to you. You swallow the fear that flares up inside you, resisting the urge to step back. But you can’t stop the warm rush of blood, creeping up your neck and cheeks, from staining your skin red.

“Don’t you think I’ve seen how you’ve hungered for me? How you’ve cried and how you’ve touched yourself to the thought of me? How I’ve _consumed_ you?” He grins at you, clearly enjoying the sight of your carefully sculpted mask of neutrality cracking. “Didn’t I tell you that would happen?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you croak, clenching your fists.

You see it in his eyes before he opens his mouth. “Cut the fucking act!” he snaps, his voice coming out as a feral growl. “We both know exactly what you want and how fucking bad you need it.”

He’s right. He’s right and it hurts to admit it.

He takes another step toward you and this time you flinch. “Look at yourself. Poor little thing doesn’t know what she’s feeling. Didn’t think you could become like this, that it’d get this far, did you?” You look away, not wanting him to see what a wreck you are. Not that you really think it’ll help. “We both know you want this, that it’s eating you up from the inside. Why don’t you just give in? It’d feel so much better than this, don’t you think?”

The lump in your throat feels bigger than ever. His voice is so sweet suddenly, you don’t know what to trust.

He takes a step closer to you, and you don’t move. His fingers find their way to your chin – a familiar feeling, but this time they’re soft, gentle rather than harsh and tugging. You don’t dare look at his face. “Think about how easy it’d be, how good it’d feel to just let go of. I could take away all that pain you’re feeling. Isn’t that what you want?”

A small whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. He’s right and you know it. All that’s stopping you from giving in is the scraps that are left of your pride. You want to think you still have your dignity left, your integrity, because those words;

_I own you._

You don’t want to give in to those words. But do you even really have a choice anymore? How much longer can you live like this?

“Come on, look at me,” he hums, carefully tilting your head towards him. “You gotta use your words. Don’t you want that?”

Your voice feels like it’s stuck in your throat, but you somehow manage to get something out. “Yes,” you croak, your voice small, almost breaking.

The smile that spreads across his face is both sweet and unsettling. “Isn’t that just absolutely fucking _precious_? You’re so desperate for this to end, you’d let me do anything I wanted to you, wouldn’t you? You’d even enjoy it.” Ice spreads through your veins when he speaks, but at the same time there’s anticipation brewing in the pit of your stomach.

His grip on your chin tightens as he lets his eyes wander over your figure. “Oh, you really want this. Such a fucking disgusting little human, can’t get enough of the big, bad demon.” His words send a wave of heat through you and sets your head spinning. The shame is coursing through your veins like blood. You can’t stand to keep your eyes on him.

“Don’t you look away from me!” He doesn’t even need to move use force, the threatening tone behind his words is enough to pull you back. “Don’t fucking waste my time. I could use you however I want and get rid of you when you break. I’m doing you a favour, so don’t make me regret it.” The way he’s talking to you should make you feel scared, or at least more scared than it actually does, but you can’t help but feel that anticipation growing stronger. You’ve waited so long for this, for him to come back.

Anti lets out a low chuckle “You’re just aching for it, aren’t you? Can’t forget the way I made you feel, the taste of me on your tongue.” He pauses to let his eyes wander over your face, studying your expression while you’re doing your best not to betray your thoughts. “So that’s what you want?”

He reads you like a fucking book. So much for those efforts.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know? As if you could keep anything from me. As if I don’t know everything about you, everything that goes on in that pretty, little head of yours. As if I haven’t _made you_ into what you are now.”

There it is again, the truth that you don’t want to admit. That you gave yourself away, that he owns you, that you’re nothing more than his little plaything and that, right now, he could do anything he wanted to you, and nobody would ever find out. Not that it’d matter; after all, who could ever stop a demon from getting their will?

“Aw, poor little baby’s scared, huh? Don’t know what’s going to happen to you?” he muses. “Well don’t you worry. Since you want it so fucking bad, I’ll tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you.”

His voice is just as enticing as it was the first time, doing things to you that you wish you could ignore. But there’s no ignoring the way your entire being is screaming out for him, like he’s the only thing that can make you whole again. And when he moves in to whisper in your ear you find yourself involuntarily leaning into him, almost begging for more.

“I think I’ll start with that lovely neck of yours, make sure you never forget exactly who you belong to. Maybe I’ll be nice, give you a taste of those lips you’ve been longing for. Or maybe I’ll use my teeth. You like those, don’t you?” he breathes, making his point by grazing the shell of your ear with one of his canines. You can’t help but shudder at the contact. “Or maybe I might just find myself something sharp. I do still have that little knife you gave me. Such a lovely little memento.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear that antagonizing fucking smirk in his voice.

“Would you enjoy that? The cold, sharp metal pressing against your skin. Knowing I could end your tragic, little life at any moment. You’re just the right kind of fucked up to get turned on by something like that,” he chuckles. “But I promise you, I don’t need a knife to make you feel like that.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You’re very aware of how dangerous he can be if he wants to. “But that’s not enough for you, of course it isn’t. You’re still longing for my cock, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, love, you’ll get it soon enough.”

It’s not until now that you realize your eyes have slid shut, your breathing coming out hot and heavy. You don’t quite understand how his words have this much effect on you?

“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget all about this suffering. I’ll take away every ounce of pain you’re feeling. You’ll scream my name like it’s the only salvation you can get. And it will be.”

You don’t have the energy to hold back the choked whimper that comes out from your lips. You feel so warm, so weak. Won’t he please just touch you?

“Or maybe I’ll just settle for splitting your skull open. You’d make such a lovely, little mess. But then again, bruises would look so pretty on your skin. Can’t let you off without any of those, now can I?”

That’s when you snap. You’ve been waiting for so long, suffering. You can’t take it anymore; his voice, his teasing, being so close to him but not quite touching. “Please,” you beg, you voice quiet. “Please, Anti.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he smirks. “You’ve been so good, maybe I should give you a little treat.”

Before you know it, you’re backed up against the wall, Anti pushing his knee in between your thighs. You let out a gasp, all but pressing yourself against him. “Mm, I think I might just do that,” he hums, trailing a hand down to undo your jeans. You can’t tell if you’re shaking or if it’s just your head playing tricks on you. Your whole body is on fire.

It feels like an eternity before he finally slips his hand under the waistband of your underwear. His cold fingers ghost over your skin, sending a shiver up your spine, and you can’t do anything but hold your breath in anticipation. God, would he just stop teasing for a fucking second?

He finally presses one of his fingers in between your lips and you dig your fingers into his shoulders, trying to keep yourself from moaning. He’s barely touched you, yet you feel like your every nerve is on fire.

He lets out an amused chuckle. “Jesus, what kind of a fucking slut gets wet like this?” he hums, right next to your ear and you don’t think you’ve ever blushed so hard in your entire life. “You really are just a needy, little whore, aren’t you?”

His fingers rub up and down, slowly getting you worked up, before he moves to run little circles over your clit. You let out a little gasp of pleasure and let your head fall down to rest on one of his shoulders.

He continues rubbing your clit with one of his fingers, keeping a steady pace as you desperately try to keep yourself upright by holding onto him, his breath running over your neck and pushing you further. You can’t believe he’s finally touching you, and how fucking good it feels. “Fuck,” you breathe, barely registering how you’re pressing yourself against him.

Anti lets out a quiet chuckle before abandoning your clit for a moment to push a finger inside you instead and, god, how you’ve longed for this. Slowly, he pumps in and out of your soaking cunt, undoubtedly ruining your underwear. All you can do is whine and tighten your grip on his shoulders.

“I’ve barely gotten started and you’re already this worked up? God, that’s fucking pathetic. Such a filthy little human,” he chuckles before you feel him pushing another finger inside you and picking up the pace.

“Oh fuck, Anti,” you moan, almost dizzy from the intense feeling.

“Again,” he growls, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. “Say my name again.”

“Anti,” you cry, waves of pleasure crashing over you every time he rubs against your clit. “Oh, god. Anti. Fuck. Please.” There’s a familiar kind of warmth pooling in the lower half of your stomach and you can’t help but moan quietly.

“Hm? Already so close?” he asks, slowing down to just leisurely pumping his fingers into you for a moment. “C’mon baby, you gotta have a little more in you than that.”

Your legs are practically quivering beneath you, struggling to keep yourself steady as you squirm and whimper. “Please, Anti, I’m gonna-“ The way he’s pushing into you, curling his fingers just the right way; god, you’re so close. All you want is for him to let you cum, to finally set you at ease.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets out a chuckle before pulling his hand back and flipping you around, crushing you against the wall with his body. With him this close to you, you can feel his surprisingly hard cock pressing against your backside.

“Tell me what you want,” he growls, right next to your ear, and you feel that familiar warmth creep up over your cheeks. “Come on now, you didn’t think I’d let you off without getting anything for myself did you? I’m giving you a choice here.” He punctuates his sentence by grinding his hips against you, and you let out a quiet whimper. He’s really going to make you say it, isn’t he?

“What’s it gonna be, love?” he purrs, his mouth so close to your ear you can feel his hot breath running over your skin, as he grinds against you again. And this time you can’t hold back.

“God, please just fuck me,” you manage to get out, your voice a hoarse whisper, so ashamed to be asking for it.

“Oh yeah? You really want my cock that fucking bad?” he taunts and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You want it like it’s the only thing that could save you, like it’s the only thing that could mend your broken soul.

His hands find the waistband of your jeans, just barely tugging on them. “Well,” he scoffs, that arrogant smirk so apparent in his voice.

For a moment there’s a tingling sensation, like when a part of your body falls asleep, and then you’re suddenly not pushed against the wall anymore. Instead, you find yourself lying on your back in your bed, his hands on either side of your head. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

He wastes no time tugging off your jeans and panties before pulling his zipper down. Moments later he’s pressing himself against you, teasing you with the tip of his cock. “You’ve waited so long for this, haven’t you? Poor little girl, been wanting the big, bad demon to fuck her since the beginning,” he purrs. “Aren’t you happy?”

He lets out a little chuckle as he finally starts pushing in. There’s a slight burning sensation, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. “Fuck, you’re tighter than I thought,” he groans, and well, he feels bigger than you remember him.

You let out a quiet moan as he bottoms out, completely unable to recall the last time you felt this _full_.

He goes slow in the beginning, so tantalizingly slow. You almost wish he’d go faster, harder, that he’d push you further. But he takes his time, his breathing hot and heavy above you. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall down, and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, fuck.”

You almost forgot just how pretty that accent of his sounded, moaning and swearing softly.

“This what you wanted, my thick cock filling you up?” he chuckles, punctuating his sentence by snapping his hips into you, making you yelp. “That what’s been keeping you up at night, huh?” Slowly he pulls back, almost all the way out, before snapping back again, picking up the pace significantly.

You’ll never understand how he reads you so well, how he knows exactly how to push your buttons. God, how you haven’t been able to think of anything other than him pounding into you, just like this, for the past few weeks. Every thrust of his hips sends a surge of electricity through you, making it hard to hold yourself together; little whimpers and moans escaping your lips.

“But what really gets you going, though,” he begins, slowing down again for a moment, leaning in to growl in your ear, his chest pressed against yours. “Is this. My voice right next to your ear, telling you what a disgusting little whore you are, and exactly how I’m going to break you.”

You feel like your eyes are going to roll into your head. His voice goes so fucking well with those words he’s pouring into you. There’s no point in even trying to hold back the loud moan escaping your lips.

“That’s it, love. So fucking pathetic,” he growls before moving his hips faster again, still so god damn close. Every curse and breath sending little tingling sensations through the pit of your stomach. You’ll never get enough of that accent.

You don’t know what possesses you to speak up, maybe there’s a surge of confidence welling up in you, giving you the courage to open your mouth. “Harder, please,” you manage to get out. “Anti.”

He stops dead in his tracks at your words, straightening himself out again, and you know you’ve fucked up. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do,” he hisses, his words steady and slow. Calm in a way that sends chills down your spine. “You ungrateful, little brat.” Just the anger in his eyes is enough to pin you in place. “I’m in charge here and you’ll do well to remember that.”

Never granting you the comfort of looking away, he slams back into you, picking up the pace, significantly more than before. “Filthy fucking human, wasting my time. Should’ve fucking killed you from the start.” His voice is so sharp, so cold, chilling you to the bone.

You can’t keep up with the way his demeanour changes. He gets angry so fast, and he’s fucking scary when he does. But even though you should be terrified, you can’t deny the way your body reacts. That little rush of adrenaline works wonders to make you want him, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning even if you wanted to.

Anti pauses for a second and lets out an amused laugh. “Oh, this really gets you going, huh? Being completely powerless, knowing that I could kill you without a moment’s notice.” There’s something in his voice that’s different. Like he isn’t toying with you anymore. “Well, maybe I should. Teach you a fucking lesson about talking back to me.”

He wastes no time wrapping his fingers tight around your throat, effectively cutting off your air, still thrusting into you with abandon. The feeling of his cock filling you up over and over again, along with the dizzying sensation of losing oxygen makes for one hell of an experience.

There’s darkness creeping into the corners of your vision. You can’t focus on anything other than his eyes. Ice cold blue piercing into your soul as you feel yourself losing your grip on reality. You know for a fact that you don’t have long left, and there’s no telling whether or not he’s going to let go. There’s a small wave of panic brewing in your chest, but if anything, it just pushes you further.

“Oh yeah, it fucking does. How absolutely disgusting.” Anti lets out a deep chuckle and then, without so much as a warning, there’s air rushing into your lungs. Cold and sharp and it fucking hurts. “As fucking tempting as that is, I’m not done with you yet.”

You’re still gasping for air when he leans in, his face just centimetres from yours, changing the angle of his thrusts just a little bit and oh- oh god that feels good.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathes, so close that you can feel his breath on your face. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum. Mark you as mine.” Every word falling from his lips sets off little sparks of electricity in your brain. Is his accent thicker or are you just imagining that? “Let everyone know who you belong to. That you’re _my_ filthy little- Shit.”

God, you’re so fucking close. You don’t even register moving your arms until you’ve got them wrapped around him, hands under his shirt, nails digging into his skin. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t tell you off. A small victory.

“God, you were fucking made for this,” he pants, green hair plastered against his forehead. “Taking my cock so fucking well.”

The sound of his voice washes over you at the same time as he hits that one spot within you and it’s like crashing into a wall. “Don’t stop,” you beg, not caring if it angers him. With every second passing that white-hot feeling in the pit of your stomach grows, pushing so hard for release. And it’s such a relief when it comes, setting your every nerve on fire, your eyes rolling back on their own accord.

“Already?” Anti laughs shortly, his voice strained. “That’s precious.” He chokes on the last syllable, pressing himself closer to you, breathing streams of curses you can’t quite understand. The next moment he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck and thrusts into you for the last time. “Fuck,” he breathes, giving a little shudder as he finally finds his release. He holds you there for a moment, just breathing against your neck as he fills you with his cum.

A second later the moment’s gone. Anti lets out a low chuckle as he pulls back, leaving you empty and leaking. “Well, wasn’t that just lovely? Aren’t you thankful?” he muses, but you can’t quite retain the words. Your brain feels like it’s covered in fog.

His expression changes in a flash, brows furrowing into something stern, and he leans in to grab your chin harshly. “What do we say?”

You have to swallow before speaking timidly. “Thank you, Anti,” you croak, your voice weaker than expected.

He seems to consider your words for a few seconds before relaxing. “Good girl,” he hums and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

And then he’s gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be starting another fic before writing the third and last chapter of this, and I honestly can't promise you it'll come faster than this. But I will certainly try to get it out sooner

**Author's Note:**

> The last two chapters will probably not be as long as this. The reason this got so long is because I had to introduce the plot. I actually don't know if I prefer longer or shorter chapters. Regardless, I hope you find this interesting enough to keep reading!
> 
> I'll try not to let too much time pass bewteen updates, but there's a lot going on in school at the moment so I can't promise anything :/


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